


When The Ship Docks, I'm Getting Off With You

by Ravenclawsome33



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, FirstClass!Chloe, RMS Titanic, ThirdClass!Beca, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclawsome33/pseuds/Ravenclawsome33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca was a drifter, looking for a purpose in life. Chloe was an "heiress," looking for a purpose in life. A chance meeting on a doomed ship might lead to a life that neither had expected. AKA the Titanic AU that no one asked for but is happening anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Welp, this is happening. If there are two things that I love in the world of entertainment, they're Bechloe and Titanic. That lands me here, with a mixture of the two.**  
  
**I am aware that I have another fic which is currently in progress, but what can i say? A Bechloe Titanic AU was too much to idly think about. I haven't abandoned my other story in the least, it's just that this thing has not been able to leave my mind since it sprung up there.**  
  
**Thank you to BlackLightning1212, who has indulged and validated my Titanic Bechloe feels.**  
  
**Read and comment, y'all.**

* * *

  
"Alright, fellas. I'm all in, I guess." Beca reached into the pocket of her trousers and grabbed the admittedly meager wad of bills and the handful of coins that were left there, and placed them on the small pile in the middle of the table. She inwardly cursed Jesse for demanding that they actually buy railway tickets from London to Southampton instead of hopping in one of the boxcars when the crew wasn't looking.  
  
Her best friend, already having emptied his pockets onto the table, sat to her right. Sweat was beading on his brow, and he gaped at her in alarm. 'The boy needs to work on his poker face,' she thought to herself.  
  
A smirk was attempting to make its way onto her face, but she held it back in favor of an expression of unease. She could see the smug faces of her opponents across the table, but she knew that with the cards in her hand, those tickets lying amongst the pile of bills, coins, and other small affects were as good as theirs.  
  
Beca was certainly not a god-fearing woman, but with the stroke of luck she was having right now, it seemed like someone or something meant for her to be on this ship.  
  
The betting came to an end, and the time came for the table to reveal their hands.  
  
Jesse let out a puff of air as he tossed his cards on the table in defeat, giving Beca a sharp look. "Nothin'," he grumbled.  
  
"Damn," she murmured. She still knew she had the winning hand, but hell, it was just fun to play with him.  
  
The other two at table, whom Beca wasn't sure spoke even a lick of English, set their hands down, the best of which was a two-pair.  
  
She slowly set down her cards, revealing three kings and two jacks. Slamming both fists onto the table, loudly enough to cause other patrons in the pub to flinch and shoot her dirty looks, Beca let out a 'woop' of excitement and rose from her seat. "Full House, boys!" She gave a disbelieving Jesse a playful punch on the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. "We're going home, pal!"  
  
They both turned to face the men they'd been playing with, and found them each with a face red enough that Beca thought she might see steam coming out of their ears soon. She was not surprised to see one of them rearing a fist back in his anger, and she squeezed her eyes tight in anticipation of the blow which never actually landed.  
  
Hearing a crash, her eyes shot open to witness the other foreigner sprawled on the floor under the poker table, next to his chair which was now on its back on the ground. 'Serves you right for betting your damn tickets,' she figured.  
  
Beca turned to find Jesse doubled over in laughter. "Let's split before this gets ugly," she suggested quietly.  
  
"You mean uglier," he responded, seeing the split eyebrow, and the black eye that was already forming on their competitor's face.  
  
While Jesse scooped up their winnings from the top of the table, ignoring the bickering Germans or Danes, or whatever, Beca made her way to the barkeep. She asked him what time it was, as she knew that her ride home was due to sail at noon.  
  
Taking a break from wiping down the pint glass he was holding, he took a look at his pocket watch. "It's 11:50, miss," he said, returning to his pint glass.  
  
"Shit," she exclaimed as she rushed back to the table where Jesse was gathering his belongings. "Jesse, we gotta go. We only have ten minutes left!"  
  
She grabbed her rucksack that contained the few pieces of clothing that she owned, as well as the case that held her most prized possession. She would have, and did in fact, bet every cent that she had on that hand of poker, but nothing could drive her to let go of the trumpet that her late mother had given her when she was younger. It was the last thing she owned that reminded her of Sarah Mitchell, and had become a source of both comfort and passion.  
  
The two friends raced along the dock, shoving people aside as they encountered them. Along their way, Beca had to grab Jesse by the back of his wool coat to keep him out of the way of an approaching car. Resuming their race to the gangplank, Jesse essentially vaulted over a small child who was holding its mother's hand. "Do you see the size of this thing, Becs?! I think they're right when they say it's unsinkable," Jesse yelled at her over his shoulder.  
  
'Damn these short legs,' she internally complained. Trying her best to keep up with Jesse, she couldn't take the time to truly appreciate the magnitude of the already legendary RMS Titanic. Its massive iron form towered over them and blocked most of the light from the late morning sun, casting a shadow that stretched halfway across the port.  
  
The stroke of luck that they'd experienced in the pub had apparently not run out. They managed to snake their way past the end of the line of other third class passengers waiting in line to be inspected before they could board the ship, just in time to push their way onto the gangplank. Not they needed the health inspection anyway. She and Jesse may have been poor, but they made sure to keep their hygiene satisfactory, at a minimum. They certainly didn't have lice, or whatever it was the inspectors were screening for.  
  
Jesse, bouncing with excitement, shoved their tickets in the face of White Star Line crewman standing in the doorway that led into the ship. The crewman looked at them suspiciously, and in a move that was very uncharacteristic for her, Beca put on her best puppy-dog eyes and a pout on her lips. It seemed to have won him over, as he wordlessly shoved them through the door and onto the ship that was to take them home to the United States in a few days' time.  
  
Once they were out of earshot of the crewman, Beca turned to Jesse with a wide grin, to find him wearing a grin of his own. "Alright, pal. Let's check this shit out!"  
  
He handed Beca her ticket, and they made their way along the narrow corridors in search of their cabin. Their journey took some time, seeing as their cabin in steerage was on F Deck, two decks below the one on which they had entered the ship. At last, they found their assigned cabin and upon entering, discovered the room's other occupants had already settled in. The two men looked at Beca and Jesse quizzically; Beca assumed they'd been expecting those two suckers who thought it was smart to bet their tickets in a hand of poker.  
  
Jesse tried to be friendly and extended a hand to each of them, which they took hesitantly, but Beca paid them no mind. Instead, she looked around at their accommodations. She had to say she was impressed. Third class though it was, everything seemed clean, even the mattresses that sat atop each bunk bed. Then again, this was the ship's maiden voyage so what should she have expected? It really didn't matter to Beca or Jesse. The cabin was small for four people, but even this beat some of the places that the duo had ended up resting their heads for the night. She shivered as she remembered the bridge that they'd wound up sleeping under during their travels in Paris, not too long ago.  
  
She moved her bag and trumpet case to the side of the bunk bed, and climbed to the top bunk. Jesse turned from the conversation that he attempted to have with their cabin-mates, which really didn't get very far, as it appeared that they spoke even less English than their poker-playing counterparts. He turned around confusedly, looking for his friend. Sure, Beca was small, but even she couldn't get lost in a cabin that was essentially the size of a closet.  
  
He finally spotted her laying on her back on the top bunk, smirking at him. "Hey! What if I wanted the top?!" he exclaimed, shoving her lightly.  
  
"Too late, pal," she responded, her smirk growing even bigger. Jesse merely let out a huff and collapsed onto the lower bunk.  
  
The two friends laid on their respective beds for some time, each reflecting on the events that had led them here, their fortune at finding their way onto the most luxurious ship ever built, and what would their future would hold once the ship docked in New York.

* * *

 

As White Star Line crew members hauled the possessions that she, her fiancé, and her parents had brought along on their voyage, Chloe took some time to examine the stateroom that would be her residence for the next few days. Objectively, she could appreciate the beauty in the luxurious appointments of the first class accommodations. Subjectively, the room was stifling. The fireplace that she couldn't imagine anyone would ever use. The furniture which she would only be able to sit on daintily. What was the point in such beautiful affects if she couldn't use them properly? Instead of laying on the couch beside a warm fire, she would have to sit on the edge of the seat with her back straight and ankles crossed.  
  
"Can you see, now, how Titanic is even more grand than the Lusitania, dear?" Luke asked from the doorway he was leaning on, a smirk playing at his lips as if he knew without a doubt that he was right.  
  
In her mind, Chloe wanted to say no. She honestly couldn't see the difference. Another beautiful stateroom, another set of crewmembers tripping over themselves to attend to her needs. Always the same thing. How many extravagant staterooms can a person stay in before they all blur together into a singular, generic room? She'd never understood the phrase, "there can be too much of a good thing" more than she did in this moment.  
  
As she opened to her mouth to say so, her parents appeared behind Luke's shoulder, smiling at her. One look at her parents reminded her of the answer she was supposed to give. The appropriate response if your fiancé asks such a question.  
  
"Yes."  
  
The other three people entered the room after touring the private Promenade Deck that was attached to their room.  
  
"I told you she'd come around as soon as she came inside, Victor," Luke said to Chloe's father. Her father strode towards her and placed a hand on her shoulder, "She always does. That's my Chloe."  
  
Chloe loved her parents, Victor and Evelyn Beale. They loved her, too, of that she was sure. Though she wasn't so sure that they loved her as much as they loved their station in life. The Beale name was well known and well respected. It had been that way for generations. Until her grandfather, their family had been extremely wealthy. Somehow, (Chloe wasn't sure she wanted to know how), her grandfather's disastrous business ventures had been kept out of the mainstream press.  
  
That was how Chloe found herself in the predicament she was currently facing. Luke Davenport, a son of another legendary (and still wealthy) family, desired Chloe's hand in marriage. Though he knew, through private channels, that the Beale fortune had all but disappeared, he still wished for the outward beauty of the Beale "heiress" and the influence that accompanied the Beale name.  
  
As Luke and Victor retreated into the adjoining room for another glass of brandy, Evelyn approached Chloe to inform her that it was time for tea on the Promenade.  
  
Instinctively, Chloe cordially answered, "Yes, that sounds nice mother." She cringed internally as the words slipped off her tongue. She felt like a dog, trained to answer at the sound of a bell. 'Pavlov seems to be on to something', she thought.  
  
Out on the Promenade, Trudy, their assigned servant for this voyage, had made her way to their table at least twice, bringing a kettle of tea and various finger foods. Chloe couldn't confidently say what flavor the tea was, or the type of sandwiches placed in front of her. She was bemused to think of the way that, just like her stateroom, the endless pots of tea and stupid tiny snacks blurred together to form a tasteless tea and a flavorless sandwich.  
  
Chloe barely registered the words thoughtlessly spilling from her mother's lips. She'd caught a few words here and there. "Bridesmaids"..."flower arrangements"..."invitations."  
  
Her gaze was focused on the vast expanse of ocean that lay beyond her mother's head. Miles and miles of sea stretching beyond the scope of her comprehension. It put her mind at ease to know that there was a world out there beyond the tedious details of an unwelcome wedding that her mother still seemed to be harping on.  
  
Couldn't she see that Chloe's mind was the farthest it could possibly be from wedding plans?  
  
"Chloe?"  
  
Her mother was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for answer to a question Chloe hadn't heard.  
  
"Pardon?" Chloe asked, hoping her mother would clue her in so that she could give her a plausible answer.  
  
"What do you think about white orchids as your floral arrangement?"  
  
White orchids. Signifying elegance, beauty, innocence, reverence. 'Naturally,' Chloe thought. As if there were any other messages that were not, figuratively, beaten into her head from the age she had first developed conscious thought.  
  
"That sounds nice," Chloe mechanically replied.


	2. Chapter 2

_**WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10** _ _**th** _ _**, 1912: 3:00 PM** _

After waking up from their impromptu nap, Beca and Jesse decided to explore the parts of the ship that they'd yet to see. They walked along the corridors until they neared the General Room, a recreational space designated for third class passengers. They could hear the commotion coming from within before they entered. Once inside, they found the room to be bustling with other third class passengers, many of which seemed to have come from all corners of the world. Most people seemed to be speaking English, but Beca picked up on some conversations taking place in languages she'd never even heard before.

"Hey, Becs, I think I'm gonna take a seat and do some people watching," Jesse said, as he plopped himself on an unoccupied bench.

"Alright, I'm going to keep taking a look around. I'll meet you back here in a bit," Beca answered.

Leaving her friend behind, Beca strolled through the General Room, one hand clutching a folder of handwritten sheet music that she liked to carry around, just in case inspiration struck her.

The décor in the room was sparse, but the white, pine walls were littered with advertisements for other White Star Line vessels and ports of call. Beca's eyes widened and filled with mirth at the sight of an upright piano tucked in the wall at the front of the room, her grip absentmindedly tightening on the folder in her hand. She hadn't expected any third class recreation area to be outfitted with a piano, but once again, the Titanic proved her wrong. She was beyond excited to make use of it, but certainly not during the afternoon when the room was abuzz with people. She would wait until the wee hours when there was a smaller chance of being heard.

For now, she simply sat at the bench and ran her fingers affectionately over the keys. It had been a while since she had had access to a piano, and even just the feel of the ivory under her fingers caused a flood of tranquility to wash over her.

Her eyes snapped open when she felt something poke her thigh. Instinctively, her eyes travelled up to snap at the for the offender for touching her, but her gaze was drawn downward to the sight of a young girl, who appeared to be no more than 8 years old, gazing at her intently. Beca's stony face softened immediately.

"Hi there," Beca said.

The little girl's cheeks tinged with pink, and her eyes focused on the floor bashfully as she spoke. "Why are you dressed like that?"

This was a question she'd been asked many times over the years, as most people weren't used to seeing a woman clad in attire befitting a young man her age. She was no stranger to the judgmental looks of the people who clearly disapproved, but Beca had long since gotten over taking their criticism to heart. She looked down at today's outfit, consisting of a slate grey cotton shirt tucked into tan corduroy pants, brown suspenders, and scuffed brown leather boots.

"Well, I don't like dresses much. I think these are more comfortable, so that's just what I wear," Beca offered simply.

"Oh, okay," the little girl responded, seemingly satisfied with Beca's answer. "I'm only 7, so I have to wear whatever my papa decides."

Beca leaned closer to her, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Guess what." she said, exaggeratedly looking around the room, before continuing conspiratorially. "One day you'll be old enough that you won't have to listen to your papa anymore and you can wear whatever your little heart desires," she finished.

The little girl simply giggled and hopped onto the piano bench beside Beca.

"I'm Beca. What's your name, kiddo? " she asked.

The little girl looked up at Beca and answered, "My name's Cora." A smile broke out on her face. "Will you play something?"

Beca chuckled and brought a hand up to nervously scratch at the back of her neck. "Well, I was going to wait until a little later..."

"Please," Cora interrupted, giving Beca a grin as wide as her face, as her eyes twinkled with mischief.

Beca's resolve quickly crumbled upon seeing Cora's expression.

"Alright, kid. What's your favorite song," Beca grumbled.

Cora merely giggled at Beca's begrudging tone. "Come Josephine In My Flying Machine."

'Kid's got good taste in music,' Beca thought to herself. "Okay. If I play it, you have to sing it, alright?"

Cora nodded, and Beca drew her hands back to the keys, beginning to play the tune. She nodded at the little girl when it was her cue to join in, and she was surprised at how well Cora stayed on pitch.

Across the room, Jesse's people watching was interrupted by the lilt of a piano and a sweet voice ringing across the General Room. He sought out the sound and was unsurprised to see Beca sitting on a bench with a small girl who was singing along to Beca's music. As much as she proclaimed to be a "tough son of a bitch," (and she was; in no way was Jesse going to deny that), she had a weakness for children. Whether it was to reach in her nearly empty pockets to flick a coin to a homeless kid on the street, or, apparently, perform a duet with one amongst a gathering crowd, Beca would bow to the will of most any child who crossed her path.

"She's good, huh?" a voice near Jesse sounded.

He looked around, not sure if that comment was directed towards him, but when his gaze met the boy's who sat on the bench opposite him, he knew that it was. The boy had a youthful face, and sported a bowler hat that scarcely concealed a mess of unruly brown curls beneath it.

"Yeah, she is," Jesse responded. "That's my best friend, Beca, actually."

"Name's Benji," the boy said, stretching his hand towards Jesse.

Jesse reciprocated, "I'm Jesse."

Back at the piano, Beca played the last few notes of her and Cora's duet. A round of applause broke out, and Beca whipped around only to be met with a small audience gathered around the piano. In the same moment, Cora hopped down from the bench and gave their audience a deep curtsy, thanking them for listening.

Beca tried her best to ignore the group of people surrounding the piano, and returned her gaze to Cora's who was watching her intently. "Okay, Cora. I'm gonna take off now. I'm sure we'll see each other around."

"Bye, Beca!" the girl responded gleefully.

Beca spotted Jesse amongst the dispersing crowd, and made her way over to him.

"Looks like someone's got an admirer, Becs!" Jesse joked.

Beca punched his arm lightly, mumbling weak "Buzz off," in reply. "Let's get out of here."

Beca could hear someone near her chuckle, and her eyes fell on a boy sitting across from the aisle from Jesse. She made her way towards him, menacingly, when Jesse's voice caused her to halt. "Stand down, Becs, sheesh. Anyway, this is Benji Applebaum. He actually only lives a few cabins down from us."

"You're a very talented musician," Benji said, stretching out his arm for to take.

At his compliment, Beca shook his hand and made the executive decision that this Benji character wasn't so bad.

* * *

_**WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10** _ _**th** _ _**, 1912: 5:00 PM** _

There were only so many times that Chloe could brush through her copper ringlets and stare at herself in the mirror before boredom overcame her. Tea with her mother had put her in a sour mood; wedding plans were apparently the only thing more boring than brushing and re-brushing your hair.

She wished that there was someone here she could talk to, if only to voice her frustrations out into the air, rather than allow them to fester in her head, filling it until the pressure was so great it felt like it might burst.

An idea struck her. She pulled open a drawer of one of the side tables, and withdrew a sheet of White Star Line stationary, an envelope, and a fresh fountain pen. She returned to the vanity with supplies in hand, sat down, and began to write.

_Dear Aubrey,_

_To say I miss you would be an understatement. I hope that all is well in New York, and that Senator Posen has not been treating you too terribly while I've been away._

_I'm writing this letter to you because I know that you would understand what I'm going through. Even if you didn't understand, you would still listen to me and be there with open arms even after I've divulged my deepest fears._

_I'm scared, Aubrey. My life is moving too fast. At the same time, it's moving too slowly. Mother has spoken of nothing but my marriage to Luke since he first asked them for my hand in marriage all those months ago. As soon as we arrive in New York, I know that these plans that, up until this point, have only been in her head will develop into real plans. I'm not ready for marriage. I don't want to be Luke's wife; I don't want to be anyone's wife. Luke says he can offer me the world, but he is only going to offer the parts of the world that he wants me to see. There's a whole world out there, a_ real  _world and I would give anything to be able have to freedom to explore it myself._

_There's love out there too, I know it._

_I've spent countless hours trying to find some compromise between my parents' happiness and my own, but there doesn't seem to be any solution. There's no way out._

_I will be counting the hours until the ship docks in New York, and I will finally be able to give you the hug I've been holding in since we left for Europe._

_I love you, Bree. You are my oldest and truest friend, and the one person I can truly count on in this world._

_Your best friend,_

_Chloe_

She knew that she would likely arrive in New York before this letter did, but it didn't matter. Simply getting the words on paper was enough to channel the most negative thoughts from her brain.

Just as she sealed the letter and scrawled Aubrey's name and address on the front, Luke entered the bedroom to announce that it was nearly dinnertime.

She turned in place on her stool in front of the vanity and saw him examining his pocket watch. "I'm not hungry," Chloe said, "I think that I'll take some air on the deck instead." It was true. Her appetite had been small as of late, and if she could use that as an excuse to get out of a meal with Luke, her parents, and god knows how many other mindless people, she would.

Luke raised an eyebrow and strode towards her, then knelt down so that he was eye-level with Chloe as she sat on the stool. "Chloe. Your parents desire your presence at dinner, as do I. I wish for you to be there."

From the ice in Luke's tone, Chloe could tell that this was not a request. She managed a barely visible nod, and whispered a quiet, "Yes, Luke."

'Damn that Pavlov,' she lamented woefully.

"Good. I'll send Trudy in to help you dress."

Immediately after Luke took his exit, Trudy scurried into the room to dress Chloe for dinner. The redhead sucked in the last few full, uninhibited breaths she could get before Trudy slipped on her corset and began tying it as tightly as could be managed.

Hours later when the final course had been cleared away, the men retired into the smoking room for brandy and port, leaving Chloe to sit with the women who had remained at the table. The others chatted away endlessly, but Chloe was sure that nothing was  _actually_  being said. Her eyes were fixed on the fork that lay in front of her; the White Star Line flag branded into it swam in and out of focus. She thought the letter that she'd written Aubrey; she had hoped it would have been adequate to purge her mind enough to allow her to carry on going through the motions the way she had been for years, but apparently, she was wrong.

Every doubt and apprehension that had been running through her mind seemed to compound on top of her, piling up until Chloe was sure the weight of them might bury her alive. The jewels around her neck and wrists felt like they were tightening their hold, constricting her veins until she couldn't breathe.

She got a warped sense of amusement that not a single other person at the table, her own mother included, noticed that Chloe's world was crashing in on her just a few feet away. She had to get out of this godforsaken room, and away from these godforsaken people.

She stood up, finally gaining the attention of the rest of the women. "I'm feeling rather tired," Chloe said, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible, "I'm going to head back to the stateroom, mother. Good evening, ladies."

She didn't wait for a response before turning and briskly leaving the dining saloon. She made her way back to her stateroom, and thankfully found it devoid of both her father and fiancé. She immediately made her way to the vanity, calling for Trudy to come assist her. She needed the dress and the corset off of her. Now.

No answer. "Trudy, are you here," she tried again. "Damn it," she mumbled. What was she supposed to do without Trudy to help her? She reached an arm back to find the knot that would unlace the dress, but was only met with her own bare back, the knot out of reach. She turned around and craned her neck backwards so that she could see the string she needed to pull to get it undone. "Fuck." No matter what angle she tried, Chloe couldn't manage to reach the knot. The panic attack that had only ebbed slightly since her escape from dinner came back in full force. Her vision blurred, and her breathing came in short huffs. Tears streamed down her face.

Whirling around, she let out a hysterical cry and grabbed the first thing she could put her hands on and threw it into the opposite wall, smashing whatever it was into hundreds of pieces.

She couldn't even get her own goddamned clothes off. She was powerless in her own skin. Was there nothing she could actually control in her life?

Well, yes...there was one thing.

Cognizant thought left her, and before she could give it a second thought, her legs carried her out of the stateroom and along the decks. Her pace quickened with every step, and before she knew it, she was running.

* * *

_**WEDNESDAY, APRIL 10** _ _**th** _ _**, 1912: 11:00 PM** _

Darkness had long since saturated the night sky when Beca made her way to the Titanic's Poop Deck. It had been bustling with other Third Class passengers during the afternoon, so she had planned to come up here later in the evening when she figured most people would be inside eating or keeping warm. April on the Atlantic Ocean, especially at nighttime, was no walk in the park. Luxury ship or not.

She was beyond pleased to find the deck completely empty. She ambled along the rails of the ship's stern for a short while, taking a momentary pause to swing back and forth by one arm on the flag post hoisting the blue ensign that was whipping in the chilly air.

After a few minutes, Beca crossed her arms over her chest and laid on her back on one the benches along the deck, giving her an unadulterated look at the stars suspended in the night sky. There was almost no light pollution to obscure the millions of luminescent stars strewn across the inky blackness. Her mind thoughtlessly travelled back to her years growing up in Georgia. Beca was only a child, but she can remember countless nights sitting with her mother on the back porch of their small cabin, simply taking in the beauty of the stars. Most of these nights were spent with Beca enjoying the security of Sarah Mitchell's arms holding her tightly, while she crooned softly into the top of Beca's head. Other times, they'd sit side by side in a comfortable silence, gazing above them, her mother sometimes breaking the silence to make occasional observations about their surroundings.

She would never forget one night in particular, when the silence that was usually so easy between them felt heavy in the air.

_Beca glanced sideways at her mother, who wore a sad expression on her face. If she had been old enough to know the word for it at the time, she would have recognized it as melancholy. If she had been old enough, she would also have known that that was the night Sarah found out she was sick._

_Her mother had her gaze fixed up at the sky, unaware of her daughter's eyes resting on the side of her face. Beca almost jumped into the air when he mother turned to face her and broke the silence. "Pretty, huh?"_

_Beca nodded in response._

_A few minutes later, her mother spoke again. "Can you imagine the stars all lined up in rows, Becs?"_

_Confused, Beca looked up at the sky and tried to picture what rows and rows of perfectly aligned stars would look like. Her brows crinkled together in distaste at the thought._

_She answered with the only reasonable conclusion she could come to. "It's not as pretty."_

_Her mother gave her a soft smile. "I don't think so either."_

_Beca could sense that there was more that her mother wanted to say, so she stayed silent and waited for her mother to continue._

" _The stars are...messy. They're random and unplanned. It might sound like a bad thing, but...that's what makes them beautiful as well. The same thing happens in life, Beca. Things will never go exactly the way you try and plan them. Life is random, just like the stars in the sky. But always remember that even when things seem their messiest, you can always find some beauty in the chaos, too," her mother finished, returning her gaze upwards._

_Beca wasn't sure what to say in response, so she snuggled into her mother's side and spent the rest of the night trying to commit her mother's words to memory._

A clicking sound, faint at first but gradually getting louder, brought her head back from that warm Georgia night so many years ago. Her eyes still shut, Beca recognized the clicking as women's heels. The clicking reached a crescendo as it passed her, and the brunette was confused as to why this person would be running. Sure, the view here was incomparable, but there wasn't really any need to run to it. It wasn't like it was going anywhere.

Only a minute later, Beca heard the clang of metal coming from the direction that the mystery person had run. Her interest was peaked, so she hoisted herself up off the bench and went in search of the noise.

Her stomach dropped when she registered the scene in front of her.

A redhaired woman was standing on the edge of the ship. The only problem was that she on the wrong side of the railing. 'Fuck fuck fuck,' was pretty much the only thought going through Beca's head.

She really had no idea what to do in this situation. She'd experienced a lot of things in her 20 odd years, but  _literally_  talking someone down from a ledge was something that she never intended to experience. In fact, if there was one thing that Beca Mitchell was least likely to do, it would be  _talk_  to someone about...feelings. And comforting them? No, she didn't really know how to do that either. Jesse being the only possible exception. 'Damn him. Where is that asshole when you need him?,' she asked herself. He would know exactly what to say in a moment like this.

But Jesse wasn't there. And Beca was the only one around while this woman was about to chuck herself off the back of a ship. So she tried her best.

The redhead's face was still focused on the water. After gathering her wits about her, Beca spoke. "Hey." Brilliant.

The woman turned her head suddenly, and okay, whoa. Beca's heart stuttered as her eyes met the most breathtaking shade of blue. Of course the woman Beca was trying to talk back over the railing was the most gorgeous person she'd ever encountered. Why couldn't it just have been some old lady who got confused and though this was just a the swimming pool?!

"Can I help you," the redhead asked fiercely.

Beca couldn't help the small smirk that found its way onto her face. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that," she replied, gesturing with her arms in front of her, acknowledging the circumstances.

"I don't need any help, thank you, so if you could just go away, that would be great," the redhead shot back, the bite in her voice still clearly present.

Beca brought her hands up in defense, and took a step back. "Okay, okay. Message received."

The redhead looked satisfied with that, and returned her focus to the sea in front of her.

As if Beca was just going to leave this gorgeous woman hanging off the back of a ship? Yeah right. "But before I go, red," the other woman's head once again whipped around, "I just gotta tell you that that water down there? You don't want to feel it."

"You have no idea what I want, you don't know me." Chloe said, this time a little softer.

Beca was a little emotionally handicapped, sure, but she wasn't so heartless as to just let someone jump of the back of a ship without trying to help them. But there was something about this redhead that she felt pulled towards. Beca couldn't begin to imagine what it was, but she was sure that if this redheaded woman let go of the rails, she would be very disappointed. Sad, even. It would feel like she lost someone important to her, despite the fact that she'd only just met her moments ago.

"You're right, but if you do this then I won't get the chance to," Beca said, her voice almost inaudible over the sound of the rushing water below them. She took a step forward tentatively, not wanting to spook the redhead.

The redhead kept her gaze on Beca, as if studying her. All the while, Beca was making slow strides nearer and nearer to the rails. The redhead had stayed silent as Beca approached, not speaking until Beca was leaning forward with her forearms on the rails, staring ahead at the ocean.

When she finally broke the silence, the redhead said, "You talked about the water like you've jumped of the back of an ocean liner before. How would you know what it feels like?"

"Because I've felt it," Beca answered instinctively. "Well, not in the middle of the ocean but I've experienced water that cold before. And I didn't jump in, so much as I was pushed." Her brows furrowed, as her mind conjured images of that particular incident.

Beca turned her head to find the redhead staring back at her, apparently waiting for her to continue, so she obliged.

"I was about 17, and my best friend Jesse and I were in New York City, at the time. We managed to swipe of couple bottles of liquor from a shop, and we walked around the city for a while. I actually don't remember a whole lot about that night; I couldn't hold my liquor too well at that age." Beca let out a slight chuckle. "But I do remember that we ended up at the East River to check out the boats on the water. We were walking, well, we were wobbling along on the edge of the river, and I must have said something slightly insulting, in jest, of course," the redhead broke into a small smile at this, and Beca was captivated. Then she remembered the point of telling this story and the fact that the redhead was still on the wrong side of the rails, so she shook her head and continued. "and Jesse kind of nudged my shoulder. My balance was off because of the booze and I ended up in the river. Keep in mind that it was February. The water i-it was...excruciating. It felt like I was being stabbed at every point on my body, all at once. The only thing my mind could register was the pain, and honestly, I just wanted it to be over. But then Jesse jumped in and pulled me to a ladder that wasn't too far away. I still can't believe he did that. I mean, he was just as piss drunk as I was. I owe him my life, for that one. Even if he was the cause of me falling in in the first place."

Beca couldn't believe she was just spilling her life to this redhead, but the odd thing was, that it didn't even feel that weird. The redhead's expression made it clear to Beca that she was full of questions, so she took this as an opportunity to try again.

"Maybe if you come back over, I can answer some of your questions?"

The other woman didn't say anything, only gave Beca a small nod.

Beca let of a whoosh of air in relief, and moved over in front of the redhead. She put her hands around the redhead's waist and held on tightly. Normally, Beca would find this extremely uncomfortable, but her focus was on getting this gorgeous woman to safety. "Now turn around slowly, I've got you."

The redhead did as she said, and moved so that she was facing Beca. Their faces were inches apart, and Beca was hit with the full force of the redhead's beauty. "B-Beca," she squeaked out. Smooth. "Mitchell."

The redhead eyes were twinkling as she let out a light chuckle. In that moment, Beca decided that she needed to hear that sound again. And again. Maybe forever.

"Chloe Beale," she said, finally sporting a genuine smile.

Good God. Beca had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and press her lips to Chloe's, but the rational side of her won over. This was obviously not the time or place. And there was nothing that gave Beca the impression that Chloe would accept such advances from another woman. Given the elaborate gown the redhead was wearing, she was probably already married to some fine, upstanding gentleman.

"Chloe," Beca repeated, a hint of something like reverence in her voice. "Alright, let's get you back over here, red."

Beca kept her hands at Chloe's waist, as the redhead ascended the rails. When she neared the top, Beca instructed her to put her hands around her neck, while she dragged the woman over the top rail.

Apparently, Beca underestimated her own strength, and she overcompensated when pulling Chloe over the rail. The force behind it caused them both to topple backwards, Chloe landing in such a way that her whole body was on top of Beca's.

Despite the chill in the air, Beca felt a rush of heat spread through her body from their compromising position.

Chloe scrambled up until she had one hand on either side of Beca's head, but stopped when their gazes met. "Thanks," Chloe whispered breathlessly. Beca's brain was frazzled. She couldn't come up with a single word to answer the redhead.

The frazzle intensified into a bona fide short-circuit, when she took in the redhead's face slowly nearing her own.

"Chloe!" A voice rang out from somewhere behind them and the two sprang up immediately, putting a few feet of distance between them.

Both girls whirled around looking for the person calling for Chloe, but apparently, they were still out of sight.

"Chloe, darling! Where are you?!"

Beca looked at Chloe and saw no trace of the easy smile the redhead had worn earlier. Her face looked unnerved, and maybe even a little frightened. Instinctively, Beca felt the need to kick the shit out of anyone who caused that beautiful face to look anything but happy.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hehe. Poop Deck.**

**I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. It's an excuse for me to watch the movie repeatedly without feeling ashamed. I'm trying to put as much historical accuracy in it as I can, so I am also learning quite a bit as I write, too. Win!**

**Please comment, you awesome nerds.**


	3. Chapter 3

**WEDNESDAY, April 10** **th** **, 1912: 11:12 PM**

"Chloe, darling, where are you?!"

Chloe heard her father's voice before she saw him approaching, and was nonplussed to see that he wasn't alone. She very last thing she needed in this moment was to be interrogated by her parents, and her fiancé,  _and_  his lackey.

Her mind was still reeling over the events of the past few minutes. Her gaze found its way to Beca's face, just to make sure that she was still there and that she was not, in fact, dreaming. Because that's what it felt like. As if she'd been having a nightmare in which she had felt the heaviness of her burden pushing her faster and faster toward the rails of the ship until she was on the other side, staring into the unforgiving ocean. And then. Oh, and then. The nightmare had ceased when her knight-in-shining armor appeared in the form of a woman with chocolate hair and eyes that matched the nighttime sea that might have been her doom.

There was no explaining it, but from the moment that she'd laid eyes on the brunette, her rapidly beating heart had slowed and the chaos flooding her mind mellowed into a trickle. Just in those few minutes spent with Beca, she knew that this woman was unlike any other she'd ever met. Everything from the way she was dressed to the manner in which her words flowed easily from her lips was different.

For some reason, Beca's presence made her feel...something. Something she couldn't readily identify.

What Chloe found on Beca's face was not the visage she'd stared into moments ago; where before there had been soft eyes and a warm smile, there now sat a hardened stare and lips tightened into a thin line.

Chloe's father rushed to her and pulled her into his arms, the rest of the group lingering just a few feet behind.

Over her father's shoulder, she could see her mother's face sweeping from side to side looking for anyone else that might be witnessing the scene, and Luke's eyes narrowed on the woman still standing on her side.

"Chloe, we were so worried. Your mother went back to the stateroom to check on you and found an empty room and broken glass, and then she came to the lounge to find Luke and myself," Victor spoke into the top of Chloe's head.

When her father finally loosened his hold on her, she felt her wrists being captured by cold hands and her body being twisted to look into the disapproving face of her fiancé. In her peripheral vision, she registered Beca taking a step forward, closer to Chloe and Luke.

"What were you doing out here? One of the crewmen said he'd seen you heading this way," Luke questioned, fixing Chloe with a look that all but dared her to give her attention to anything else but him.

"I...I was, just..." Chloe searched her mind for any plausible excuse that would explain her presence here, but Luke's searching eyes distracted her and she could think of nothing.

"I believe that the lady was looking for the ship's propellers. When I arrived, she was leaning over the rail to get a closer look and nearly slipped before I was able to keep her aboard." Chloe turned her head to find that Beca had moved closer, and was speaking to Luke.

Luke a simple once over, and returned his face to Chloe's as if asking for confirmation.

"Uh, yes. I'm sorry I didn't inform you before I left. I was just...excited to see the propellers. In fact, my excitement might have gotten the better of me if this woman hadn't been here," Chloe responded, willing her voice to remain steady.

Luke arched an eyebrow, but didn't push it any further. He released his grip from Chloe's wrists, and approached Beca.

"Lucas Davenport, a pleasure to meet you. I suppose I have you to thank for the safety of my fiancé," he spoke as he extended a hand, his face not even trying to mask his distaste for the woman in front of him.

"Beca Mitchell. The pleasure is mine,  _sir,_ " Beca replied, with a hint of mockery in her voice that Chloe was sure only she picked up on.

Chloe saw Luke smile in response, though it resembled much more of a sneer, as her father's booming voice spoke out from where he'd gone to stand with her mother. "Well, I think Miss Mitchell here deserves something for keeping our Chloe in one piece, don't you think, Luke? We never have been able to reign in that inquisitive mind."

Chloe was almost certain she heard Beca let out a small scoff, and she could feel her cheeks begin to twinge with pink. Having Beca witness her weakness in this moment was somehow even more humiliating than Beca having seen her about to tumble into the Atlantic Ocean.

"Right you are. Bumper!" he called out over his shoulder. Luke's "assistant," Bumper Allen emerged from the shadows of the exhaust pipe he'd been leaning on, and Chloe internally cringed at the sight of him. Bumper had been Luke's second hand man for as long as she'd known him, and Chloe was certain that he was a seedy character. She'd often find him leering at her when Luke's attention was elsewhere, and he made her extremely uncomfortable.

"I think thirty dollar should be acceptable, Bumper," he ordered, and Bumper withdrew his wallet from trousers. "Oh, and why don't you join us for dinner tomorrow evening,  _Miss_ Mitchell," Luke derided, finally turning back to Beca. Chloe was almost proud of the way Beca's chin tilted upwards and the slight puffing of her chest under a steely gaze that would have had Chloe bowing in submission.

"I'll be there," Beca replied, matching Luke's expression with a steely gaze of her own.

His hand snaked around Chloe's waist, and pulled her in possessively. "Victor, Evelyn, what say we return to the stateroom. It must have been a trying evening for our Chloe."

' _You don't know that half of it,'_  she thought, but dared not say.

"We will see you tomorrow evening, Miss Mitchell. Come, Chloe," he said, moving to accompany her back to the proper deck, but not before the redhead felt Beca's gaze back on her, and directed her own eyes to the brunette's for the first time since her parents and Luke had appeared. Chloe was inexplicably thankful that Luke hadn't picked up on the hitch in her breath when her eyes met Beca's. The intensity she found in them made her stomach lurch in a surprisingly pleasant manner. She felt herself being filled with that same feeling she'd noticed earlier, and yet again, she was unable to put words to.

She gave Beca a curt nod, and allowed herself to be led back in the direction of her stateroom.

All the way there, her "inquisitive mind," as they called it, was fixated on the woman who'd saved her life.

* * *

Beca watched as Chloe was escorted from the deck by her parents and her...fiancé. She felt her jaw clench and her stomach roil uncomfortable as the word bounced around in her head.

Given her appearance, Beca knew she was a first class passenger, and therefore she had expected that the Chloe would have been engaged to be married, if not married already. For some reason, Beca's roiling stomach twisted into uncontrollable knots at the prospect, but that wasn't her first priority. No, the thing that angered the most was that Chloe was so clearly unhappy. Only a few minutes spent with the redhead was enough for Beca, a total stranger, to realize it. What kind of parents, what kind of  _fiancé_ , were they if they couldn't see the unhappiness in Chloe's eyes? What kind of people were they if the  _could_  see it, and didn't do anything about it?

Beca knew she had to see Chloe again. It was a strange feeling, but Beca felt compelled to know more about the girl. Why it was that she held a sadness in her amazingly blue eyes, what had happened to put it there, what she could do to put an end to it.

Dinner was probably her best chance; she may not be able to talk to Chloe one on one, but the idea of at last being around her was enough to soothe the angry twisting of her stomach.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rustling of paper to her left. She'd forgotten this Bumper character hadn't accompanied the Beales back to their proper deck. She turned to him and saw him counting out thirty dollars in bills, and spoke before he could withdraw them.

"I don't want your money," she said. And she really didn't. Yes, she was hard up for money, but she didn't consider what she'd done for the redhead something to be rewarded. For one, it was something any decent person should have done. And second, it was Chloe. She wasn't sure why, yet, but she knew that that was something significant to her. Chloe was significant. His hands stopped their movements and he raised his head to meet her eyes.

Beca spotted a pack of cigarettes poking out of his jacket pocket, and though, ' _Might as well.'_  "I wouldn't say no to that pack of smokes, however."

His hand went to the cigarettes, and he arched a brow at her, looking at her questioningly, as if sizing her up. He wordlessly took the pack of out his pocket and held it out to her. She stretched her own arm to take it, but before she made contact, his free hand was on her wrist pulling her until she was pressed against him.

"Pretty little thing, aren't ya?" he hissed in her ear, his hand still gripping her tightly. She could feel his hot breath in her hear, the stench of his breath filling her nostrils.

Before she could react, he'd let her go and took a step backwards, leaving her standing there as if in a daze.

"See you at dinner," he said coolly, tossing her the pack of cigarettes which she instinctively caught, and turning to stalk off towards the first class deck.

Normally, Beca's reaction would have been to fly off the handle and pop him square in the face for manhandling her in such a way, but she figured that beating the shit out of this guy would have lost her her dinner invitation.

And now that she'd seen Bumper's true colors, there was no way she'd be missing that dinner. Beca had been a lot of places, and met a lot of seedy characters along the way. But she could feel it in her bones that this one, Bumper,  _seriously, what kind of name is that?_ , was bad news. The idea that Chloe spent a lot of time around him caused Beca's hands to ball into fists almost reflexively.

She withdrew a smoke from the pack she'd nearly crushed and a book of matches that always resided in the pocket of her trousers, and bent down to strike the match on the wooden deck.

She lit the cigarette and let out of puff of air before she started back towards the third class, mind still contemplating the sharp turn her quiet evening had taken.

When she arrived in her quarters, having chucked the spent cigarette overboard, she found Jesse laying on his bunk, but not yet asleep.

"Where have you been off to Becs?" he questioned, regarding her with amused eyes.

"Not in the mood, Jesse. I just want to sleep," she replied, her voice unintentionally sharp. She felt bed for the bite in her tone, knowing Jesse hadn't done anything but ask her a simple question. "Look, I'm sorry. Just got a lot on my mind," she apologized, letting out a heavy sigh.

His features contorted into a look of concern, and he nodded.

She kicked off her boots and climbed up to the top bunk, flopping on her back. In her last moments before falling asleep, she heard Jesse speak over the snores of their roommates.

"We're talking about this tomorrow, you know."

She simply huffed and rolled over, finally letting sleep take her.

 **THURSDAY, April 11** **th** **, 1912: 11:30 PM**

Jesse hadn't been lying to her when he said they'd be talking about it the next day. And that's how she found herself in the Entertainment Room once more, relaying the events of the previous night to her best friend, and Benji, the neighbor she'd met the day before.

"Wow," Benji breathed out when she finished her tale. "You saved a life last night? You're a regular hero, Beca," he exclaimed giving her a light punch to the shoulder.

She'd neglected to include the end of the encounter when Bumper had grabbed her, deciding not to worry Jesse unnecessarily. He tended to get overprotective, in the way that an older brother might. Normally she was grateful, as it was a testament to the strength of their friendship, but for some reason, she didn't want to get Jesse involved in this whole...situation.

"I'm no hero. Either of you guys would have done the same thing," she said, brushing off Benji's compliments.

"When will you see her again," Benji asked excitedly. Beca appreciated his enthusiasm. His bright smile and curly hair made him easy to be around, and she hoped that when the ship finally docked that he'd stick around with her and Jesse, adding a third person to their mismatched duo.

"Well..." Beca started, "her parents actually invited me to have dinner with them in first class tonight."

Both of her friends simultaneously let out a low whistle in response, Jesse reaching across to where Benji sat beside Beca, giving him a high five.

Leaning back into his seat, Jesse grinned at Beca. "Look at you, Becs. You're gonna be rubbing elbows with the fanciest folks on the ship."

She grumbled in response, thinking about how uncomfortable this dinner would likely be.  _Oh well, a_ _nything for her_ , she thought.

She saw Jesse gazing at something behind her when he next spoke. "Say, what did this Chloe look like again, Beca?"

She let out a light sigh, allowing her mind think fully on the Chloe. "She has bright red curly hair, and this smile that just..., and these blue eyes that are..." she trailed off as she pictured Chloe's pink lips, imagining how they might feel, might taste.

Jesse kicked her leg, bringing her back from her daydream, grinning like a madman.

"Hey!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Looks like you might see her earlier than dinner," he said, voice full of mirth, nodding behind her.

"What're you..." she said, turning in her seat to see what Jesse was looking at.

"Oh."

There she was, looking just like she did when Beca had been picturing her moments ago. Descending the steps from the top deck into the Entertainment Room, with her fiery red hair and striking blue eyes which were currently sweeping across the room.

Chloe Beale, in the flesh, once again.

* * *

**A/N: So sorry for the wait. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think, it really fuels my motivation to write!**

**Once again, thank you to every one reading, following, and commenting.**

**Oh, and, some of you have expressing concern over whether one of both of our girls will end up dying. I don't want to spoil the ending, so I'll just say this: Remember that this is the Titanic we're talking about, and we all know that didn't end up too well. BUT, also keep in mind that I am not completely heartless! And I'll leave at that.**

**Until next time, awesome nerds!**


	4. Chapter 4

**FRIDAY, April 12th, 1912: 3:45 PM**

Beca sees Chloe descending the steps of the entertainment room and watches as the redhead's eyes sweep the room, clearly looking for something or someone. She can't deny the hope that it's her that Chloe's searching for.

Not wanting to approach Chloe, in case she's not the reason for Chloe venture to the third class, she waits, content to watch Chloe slowly make her way through the room. Her elegant dress sticks out amongst the crowd, and she can tell that the redhead feels out of place here.

Beca can't help the upturn of her lips when she sees the way that Chloe gives small, courteous smiles to the gentlemen who lift their caps as she passes them, and how the redhead's smile intensifies as she spots a few rambunctious children weaving between clusters of legs to chase a puppy on the loose.

She can't help her grin at those reactions any more than she can help the flip-flop of her stomach when Chloe's eyes finally reach hers.

She breaks eye contact when she hears Jesse clear his throat behind her, turning to see him grinning, as she feels her cheeks flush with heat when she realizes she'd automatically risen from her seat when she saw the redhead enter the room.

"Knock it off," she grumbles, punching him lightly in the shoulder as she takes her seat once again, her eyes fixating on the wooden panels of the floor.

"Looks like she's on her way over here," Benji whispers excitedly. Beca's eyes flick to see Benji shifting in his seat like a restless child, before her gaze falls back to the floor.

"Oh, this is gonna be good. Embarrassed Beca is my favorite Beca," Jesse adds with a snicker, rubbing his hands together menacingly.

"I swear to God, Jesse, don't be a fucking assho-" Beca starts to respond.

"I didn't realize my savior has such a colorful vocabulary."

Beca's eyes widen when a pair of expensive, suede heels appear in her peripheral vision. Her head snaps up and she sees Chloe standing over her, holding a parasol that rests against her shoulder. The amusement playing on her face betrays any offense at Beca's choice of words, and she finds it encouraging.

"Well, when one has friends like mine," she starts, once again instinctively rising from her seat, "one often finds that profanity is the only appropriate response, short of physical violence."

"Ah, diplomatic profanity. I see," Chloe giggles, her amusement now transformed into a wide grin.

"It's safer for all involved," Beca reasons, tugging at her suspenders as she leans back onto the heels of her feet.

"Beca, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" Jesse interjects, once a short silence falls over the two.

Jesus, she'd nearly forgotten that Jesse and Benji were even there.

"Right, right," Beca mumbles sheepishly. "Chloe, this is Jesse Swanson. If you may recall, he's the one who pushed me into a freezing river," she teases with a smirk.

"That was an accident!" he exclaims, before rising from his seat.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Chloe," he says, shaking Chloe's hand enthusiastically. When she releases his hand, he leans in towards the redhead conspiratorially. "Mostly because we don't often get the pleasure of having such...pleasantly fragrant company in steerage," he stage whispers, nodding his head at a rotund man at the end of the bench.

Jesse's joke prompts another round of giggles from Chloe, and even a small chuckle from Beca. She has to hand it to him, the guy does look like he hasn't bathed since the turn of the century.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jesse," Chloe responded once she gained control of her laughter.

"And this is Benji," Beca declares, resuming the introductions. "We've only just met him on the ship, but he seems like a stand-up fellow. So we figured we'll keep him," she finishes, throwing Benji a friendly wink, so that he knows she's only joking.

Benji removes his bowler hat, and takes Chloe's gloved hand in his own, bending at the waist to give it a light kiss. "Someone's got to stick around to teach these heathens some proper manners," he counters. "Benjamin Applebaum, at your service, miss."

"I think it's a bit too late for these old dogs to learn new tricks, Benji," Beca challenges.

"Manners are overrated anways," Chloe answers, and her eyes meet Beca's. Though the Chloe's expression is light, Beca recognizes a kind of wistful sadness in her tone. Her brow furrows the slightest bit as her eyes search Chloe's.

Beca is somewhat shocked at how quickly Chloe replaces the melancholy with a smile. She's seen Chloe smile genuinely by now, and she can tell that this one doesn't quite reach Chloe's eyes. Her heart constricts a little when she realizes that this is a skill that Chloe has probably perfected over a lifetime surrounded by stifling parents and expectations.

How lonely must her life be?

Chloe holds eye contact with Beca long enough that Benji clears his throat, so as to break the silence that had fallen over the group.

Chloe seems to remember herself, and straightens up immediately, clearing her throat in much daintier way than poor Benji.

"Well, it was lovely to meet you, Jesse and Benji. I was hoping to get a word with Beca, here, as long as I'm not interrupting anything."

"You're not interrupting," Beca blurts out before her two friends can get anything in edgewise. She can feel her body starting to overheat as soon as the words spill from her lips.

"Right, then," Chloe chirps, clapping her hands together.

A few moments pass, and Jesse and Benji still stand beside them, eyes flicking amusedly between the two women.

"Well, would you talk a walk, Chloe?" Beca asks, once again nervously tugging at her suspenders. "So we might have a bit of privacy?" she finishes, throwing a pointed glance at her buddies.

"Right, right," Jesse apologizes, motioning for Benji to resume their seats.

Beca extends her arm, deciding not to overthink the action. After all, it seems to be a custom amongst people of Chloe's station.

Chloe says nothing, and accepts her arm as Beca leads them towards the stairs to lead them up onto the deck.

Beca turns for a quick moment to see Benji smiling smugly at her, and Jesse twisted in his seat, his head propped on his folded elbows that rest on the top of the bench. He blows her a mocking kiss and she glares at him before resuming her spot beside Chloe as they ascend the steps.

* * *

 

They walk for a minute or two, with unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them.

"Why?

"Chloe, I-"

They pause their strolling, and Chloe feels better when she sees Beca's cheeks redden just the same way that she can feel her own cheeks and ears turn pink.

"After you," Beca says, bowing her head lightly.

Before making her way to find the brunette, Chloe had felt like human bundle of anxiety at the thought of seeing Beca again. A woman who had seen Chloe while her mind had been in the darkest place it had ever traveled, and who still looked at her like...like she was important. Not her name; no, Beca hadn't even known her name then. Just that she, just she, is important.

"Why did you save me?"

Not the greatest start to a conversation, Chloe thinks. Her sense of tact seems to have gone on holiday.

Beca's eyes widen only for a moment, and then Chloe observes her brows furrow.

"I did what anyone should have done in that situation," Beca replies, her statement falling flat between them. Beca's lips turn down into a slight frown and Chloe can see there are words that go unspoken.

"Truly?" Chloe asks, pausing their easy stroll to focus her attention completely on the brunette.

She can see the way Beca's mouth opens and closes, opening once more before she says, "I...I don't know."

And Chloe can accept that.

She'd spent the day figuring out how best to excuse herself from the sharp eye of her family and her fiancée in order to hopefully catch Beca.

Why?

Chloe can't say. But she'd felt a connection with the brunette the moment that Beca had interrupted her likely death.

"Why were you going to jump?"

The question breaks Chloe's inner monologue. She hadn't really prepared for Beca asking this of her.

If her father, mother, fiancée, or...anyone, frankly, had found her in the position Beca had found her in, she suspects that they would have pulled her back and continued their lives without ever asking.

But Beca had asked, and if the expression on her face is anything to go by, it was a serious question.

"Well..."

She lets the question linger, trying to find a response that would explain the overwhelming desire to do what she was prepared to do last night.

But none of them quite feel like an answer that Chloe finds adequate.

Beca appears to register her hesitation and tugs her elbow forward to prompt them into their stroll once again.

"I've been there, too. Well, not there, but, ya know, there. No need to explain, really," the brunette says, and Chloe is grateful for the out that Beca has offered her. Though it leaves a myriad of questions in its place.

They've walked nearly half the ship's length in a comfortable silence until one of the questions that have been hounding Chloe's mind slips loose.

"Where are you from? I can't seem to place your accent," she asks, her face landing once again on Beca's profile. Her collared shirt accentuates the brunette's sharp jawline, and rich brown curls tumble over the opposite shoulder. Even from the side, she can tell the brunette's lips are pursed, as she contemplates the question.

Beca leads them to the railing of the ship, so that they look out over the horizon, sunlight reflecting the waves of the ocean for as many miles as their eyes could see.

"Everywhere, I suppose," and she pauses, though Chloe can sense that there's more the brunette might be willing to tell.

"I'm from, uh, a small town near Atlanta, Georgia, in the States," Beca begins. Chloe can see that her eyes are technically looking at the ocean in front of them, but her mind is miles and miles away.

"When my dad finally came back from the War of the Rebellion, he...just wasn't the same man that left to fight for his beliefs. He nearly always had a bottle of moonshine on him, and he was aggressive towards my mother. He left a few years after he came back and we never heard from him after that. I left home a number of years after that."

Beca's eyes never left the ocean during her soliloquy.

"Are you going home to see your mother?"

Chloe asks the question, fully believing that she won't get an answer. But Beca surprises her when she turns to look at Chloe, at small, sad smile on her face.

"As it happens, that's exactly what I'm planning on doing once we dock."

"CHLOE, DEAREST BEALE!"

Chloe and Beca both whip around to see the source of the commotion that has been raised in Chloe's name.

"Oh my, Amy! It's wonderful to see you!"

Chloe rushes to hug the heavyset woman whose ears and neck drip with diamonds and other flashy gemstones.

"And who might this dashing young lady be," Amy asks, her eyes searching Beca's face and form.

"This is Beca Mitchell, a new acquaintance of mine," Chloe says. "Beca, this is Amy Brown, heiress to Australia's largest railroad fortune."

While Beca extends a common handshake, Amy moves in for a full on hug just as she did with Chloe.

The redhead giggles at the way Beca's eyes bulge and nostrils flare as she's swept up in Amy's bone-squeezing embrace.

"Nice to meet you," Beca sheepishly ventures, once the hug has ended.

"Beca will actually be joining up for dinner tonight, as it were," Chloe remarks, directing the attention back onto herself, hoping that Beca will not be overwhelmed by their overly-personable companion.

"You're a brave one, then," Amy states, making Beca visibly nervous.

"I hope to be a worthy enough companion," Beca answers, puffing her chest out once again, just the way she did the previous night.

"Well, I can tell you it's nothing you need be worried about. A bunch of show dogs with no real skills is what it'll be," Amy answers, clearly amused with the brunette.

Chloe's eyes dart between the two, enjoying the quick banter they've established.

Before she can make a move to interject, Chloe can hear a voice call out to her some ways down the deck.

"Chloe, darling! Chloe, I've been looking for you."

Her eyes don't wander to the source of the voice that she immediately recognizes to be her mother's, but stay on Beca's.

Beca's steely blues are fixated on her, with an expression that reads of mostly of discomfort but also something bordering on watchfulness.

Like she's waiting to see Chloe's reaction to her mother's beckoning.

Her mother appears at her side much sooner than Chloe would like her to, but Beca's expression doesn't waver. It only hardens.

Chloe can see that Beca is expecting the same flagrant disregard from her mother that she was treated with the night before when she'd saved Chloe from an abysmal end. It's a challenging expression, one that Chloe has been estopped from directing towards anyone since her days in primary school.

She holds Beca in the highest regard for facing Evelyn Beale like that.

Her mother gives Amy a short hug that borders on contemptuous, and when her eyes fall on Beca, they give the brunette's outfit another fleeting glance before focusing her stern gaze on Chloe.

"Dinner is in two hours. It's time you join us in the stateroom to prepare."

It's all her mother has to say before Chloe turns to her companions and gives both of them a heavy look, hoping to communicate that she's sorry to have to cut their conversations short.

She walks along the deck for a few moments before turning back, meeting Beca's eyes. She finds them blazing with an intensity that she can't place.

Before long, she is in her suite with her father, mother, and fiancée, all of whom are discussing the latest gossip regarding Jacob Aster and his mistress.

* * *

 

Beca can feel her eyes burning as she watches Chloe's form become smaller and smaller the farther she walks along the ship's deck.

"Ayyy. Shortstack," a voice sounds from beside her.

She doesn't realize that it's the woman Chloe had just introduced her to before she feels a light punch against her bicep.

Aghast, she turns and finds "Amy," staring at her with a face of pure amusement.

"Uh, yes?" Beca asks, dumbfounded.

"You're to be having dinner in first class tonight, aye?"

"Yes, that's the plan," Beca responds suspiciously.

"Well, assuming you're planning to wear the outfit you've got going on right now, there's no damned way you'll even make it into the dining room."

At first, Beca feels indignant at the audacity of Amy's statement, but upon looking down at her rather ragged set of slacks, shirt, and suspenders, she understands where the woman's coming from.

"I've got a little sister who's fifteen years old. I think that the dress I've been meaning to bring her would fit perfectly on your lithe, little frame."

Before Beca can spout of the first objection she can muster, Amy's hand is around her wrist and dragging her towards the inside of the ship and, apparently, towards some teenager's dress.


End file.
